


Swim For Me

by Falconette



Category: Free!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falconette/pseuds/Falconette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A handsome, quiet stranger starts coaching you one day...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swim For Me

**Swim For Me**

We all knew the tall, dark guy that hung around the pool, casting a critical eye on a particular stroke technique, stopping by during training sessions to exchange a few comments with the coach, sitting in the spectators’ area for awhile and then walking away with the ever present stern expression on his face. The rumor among us was that he used to be a rising star in the swimming arena who had busted his shoulder years ago and with that his chances of climbing to the professional level. They said he still had a lot of rehabilitation to do before he could swim for fun again. Noting his dark gaze, I couldn’t imagine that guy did anything for fun.

We heard the coach refer to him as Yamazaki kun so that is what we called him among ourselves too. The girls on the team were unanimous about his good looks, gauging he was only couple of years older than us, although none of us ever seriously considered approaching him. There was something about the aura around him that made us cast our eyes submissively down when he would walk by.

I remember the day I learned his name was Sousuke. It was just on the eve of one meet, several training sessions before the competition where I had signed up for the 200m backstroke race, backstroke being my stroke of choice. He happened to be standing beside the coach, leafing through line-ups and, out of nowhere, commented:

“I have seen all their times. You have a fair chance.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. Or, at least, about me. I pulled my goggles up and blinked at him.

“Really?”

He shrugged slowly, half-interested, the massive shoulders moving like a big wave underneath his shirt.

“If you work on that turn of yours. It’s no good.”

“What?” the direct, matter-of-fact observation hit me like a whip. I hadn’t been aware I was being watched and evaluated.

“That is what I’ve been telling her, but no, she is constantly trying to compensate with speed.” The coach chimed in, like he was just waiting for a cue, throwing his hands up in a dejected gesture. He was getting worked up by the upcoming event just as we were. “What is all that swimming for if you botch the turns. At this level, unless you can execute everything perfectly, you just can’t cut it.”

He exhaled heavily, shaking his head and the dark stranger didn’t move or speak for awhile, leaving me guessing about what went on in his mind. My eyes darted from one man to another, while I was deliberating if this conversation was over and should I continue with my practice. I was nervous enough before the race as it was, I didn’t need comments on my handicaps delivered so casually. Now all I would be able to concentrate on was how hopeless my flips were anyway. The stranger must have had the same thought since his eyes meaningfully caught mine for a second before he finally, slowly said:

“I can work with her on that until the race.”

The heaviness of his gaze made me feel leaden in the water, rigid and anxious. There was a feel of authority about him that scared me but also made me eager to prove he was right about the potential he saw in me.

The coach looked at me, indecisive, searching for an approval. I nodded, unsure what I was getting myself into.

“Alright, you are tapering now anyway so you might as well be polishing details of your technique.” He gave the other man a curt, meaningful nod, “No strength or speed drills, just the technique, ok?”

Even from below I didn’t miss a minute change of expression on his face before he murmured, “Understood.”

He then turned to me, a cool and assessing expression on his face : “My name is Yamazaki Sousuke, let’s get going.”

* * *

Some of his rehabilitation exercises took place in water so after finishing his session in the shallow pool in the basement, he would join our practice after our warm-ups. Surprisingly, he was very good at explaining what he wanted me to do without having to demonstrate and patient with my countless failed attempts. We never went outside the boundaries the coach had set, but from his advices it was clear Sousuke had a lot of practical knowledge on the subject of training and racing, even though I have never seen him enter a pool once.

Done right, the flips are the simplest and most elegant thing there is. The trick is execution at full speed, race-level adrenaline rush and muscle fatigue. We worked and worked, endless flips and endless analysis of what went wrong until I started getting it right.

I won silver in that meet and we both agreed it could have been gold had we practiced together longer. We seemed to function well as a tandem and, since the coach actually welcomed help, from that day on Sousuke basically became my trainer and I became his project.

* * *

There was something about him that changed when he was absorbed in explaining and visualizing what he wanted me to do, the times when I could listen to his instructions and observe him openly without him realizing he was being watched. He didn’t seem unapproachable and cold then, becoming a different person. There was a deep fire and passion for swimming inside him that I wished, more and more, was directed at me.

The longer we worked together, the sweeter the anticipation before the training sessions, the more envious looks of the girls on my team, louder the whispers behind my back:

_“Swimcest.”_

If only.

I saw him almost daily but the formal distance between us never faded, the bitter-sweet awareness of my body being openly displayed to him below, in the water never ceasing.

Sousuke knew a lot about competitive swimming, although I have never seen him actually race. He never talked about the past and I never prompted him. We were busy enough with coming up with training regimes and following them through. He pushed me hard and I accepted his challenges, it was a hard and ruthless training, but the results showed and as time passed, the coach checked less and less on what Sousuke and I were doing. Not only did my physical strength and stamina improve, he pointed out countless little flaws in my routines and found ways of rooting them out. He had a sharp eye for details like the way my fingers were pointed while underwater or the angle of my head to my shoulders during a stroke, but I started wondering if he ever saw me instead of a swimming machine that needed fine tuning.

I wouldn’t mind if he did. I longed him to. I fantasized about him giving me a hand while getting out of the pool or our fingers brushing while he was handing me a towel, silly things like that. He remained so strictly professional and distanced, after a while, it started feeling wrong.

After practice, he would already be long gone by the time I’d shower and dry my hair. He didn’t hang out with my teammates nor did he ever join us for dinner afterwards. I saw him on the street once or twice, but he made no effort to stop and chat, only a curt nod and his eyes already focused somewhere else. I did, however, catch his gaze when I turned to check him out once. It was an awkward moment for us both, which we never brought up.

If I was just a project to him, I vowed to make him proud of his work, to give him a reason not to give up on me. So I started setting my sights higher, pushing myself further and challenging myself harder. Every time I announced I had a time I wished to beat or a race I wanted to enter, he would only thoughtfully nod, already starting with preparations in his head, and I would catch a glimpse of that spark in his eyes, the spark that made me go through all the grueling repetitions, early morning and late evening trainings, a guiding beacon. And I would go through the odious routines, happy I gave him a reason to stay.

Ironically, the more I wanted to spend time with him, the more I started to hate the practices. But during a race, when I would hear him holler out my name, shout out in pace of my strokes and wait for me at the finish, my chest would overflow with joy and helpless devotion. I felt I could swim for miles if he was cheering my name. Nothing could compare with the feeling of him commenting the race in my ear while, drained, winded and complacent, I tottered towards the showers shadowed by his looming figure. And after beating my previous record or after a win, he would be there with a glint in his eyes and would give me one of his smiles, the ones that no matter how wan, managed to warm his gaze.

I swam for that look.

And when I would fail, he would look away and keep his chin low, like it was him who has failed me and not the other way round. At those times I felt like I would never be able to enter the pool again. Sometimes, when I gave it all and still came up short, I envied my teammates who could rely on the coach’s pat on the back. Sousuke would point out why things went the way they did and offered improvements, but sometimes all one needed was a pat on the back. Or a hug.

* * *

That day I was pushing hard with a big meet on my mind. I was going against myself, disciplining my body with strenuous exercise and hushing my protesting mind. I didn’t want to be here anymore, but seeing his expectant face at the end of each lap kept me quiet, kept me going. I was determined to take a medal home, visualizing myself standing on that podium, waving to the audience, to him. I visualized him waving back and that image gave me more impulse than the feel of the medal around my neck.

I heard a rumor about him completing his rehabilitation here and moving to another town to be treated by a specialist. I didn’t know if there was any truth in it, as Sousuke kept showing up punctually every day and was absorbed in the training as usual, but it was enough to plant a seed of anxiety inside me. He didn’t owe me anything, the deal we had was purely voluntary and… a favor to me and my coach, I guess. The fear that was with me all this time now finally gained a voice; just as he started appearing, he could simply… disappear.

The idea of swimming without his eye on me seemed unimaginable now. Why would I strain my body to its limits, fighting the water, again and again, if he wouldn’t be there to help me do it, witness my great and small victories?

That afternoon, I swam what felt like for days, all recent training sessions and haunting thoughts blurring into one, my body numbly protesting, my mind having a hard time finding motivation. It was always like this before a big race, but I have never entered aiming so high, starting so low. I wondered if I had what it took, but was too afraid to show any doubts to Sousuke, not after I asked him to train me for this event, not after he had spent hours, days of his time doing so. If I quit now, I feared there would be no point in him coming here to coach me anymore.

My hand finally hit the wall, the last 25m spurt feeling like a mile, and Sousuke crouched above me, a stopwatch in his hand.

“No good, you have to pull stronger.” he frowned, scribbling something in his notepad. “You are gaining.”

Without a doubt, he was right. But I was beat, I needed a rest. A long, long rest. Swimming with troubling thoughts was not going to get me anywhere faster, that was for sure.

“I know. I’ll try. Again.” Breathless gasps interrupted my words, the sheer exhaustion keeping me from pulling myself out and splaying over the floor.

He gave me a long unreadable look then scribbled some more before stuffing the notepad into the pocket of his tracksuit pants.

“We are already behind the schedule.” his aloof voice told me what I already knew. I was holding on to the edge of the pool with shaky hands, waiting for the oxygen to course through my tired body, looking up at him, trying to find a reason to continue, praying that he gave me one instead of just sterile instructions. If I reached out, I could touch him, but he was so out of reach for me.

“Yamazaki senpai…” my voice was winded and trembling, not only because I was clutching at the tiled edge with the last ounces of strength I possessed. I laid my chin on my hands and asked before I lost my nerve, a harmless, innocent question. Or so I hoped it sounded,

“Is it true that your rehabilitation here finished?”

His eyes widened for a moment, just a moment, before he stood up, distancing himself from me and the water. He then gazed at the stopwatch and the time he froze there.

“Rehabilitation is more than exercises.” He said after awhile, staring unwaveringly at the watch, then added more loudly, “I want to see a sprint, 50m, all you’ve got, on my mark…” I barely had the time to get into the position when he shouted, “Go!”

My body jerked and stretched backwards, a reflex programmed into me by countless practices, a thoughtless reaction, knowing that somewhere above his finger had pushed the count button on the stopwatch. Milliseconds counted. But I wasn’t ready, I hadn’t rested enough. After a swift underwater dolphin kick stretch, I surfaced and my arms started windmilling in a relentless tempo, sinking and emerging, propelling me forwards. My lungs were burning for air, there was just not enough oxygen in my system. The water felt like honey, sticking to my limbs, pulling me in. What did he mean by rehabilitation being more than exercises? When I passed the flags and the far edge, I flipped and started swimming back, suddenly remembering it was Sousuke who taught me how to execute that seamless turn. What did the sudden change in him mean? Was he angry with me? Was the question too personal? The puny 25 meters suddenly seemed like a vast distance to cross, I felt my body was falling apart in effort to do the impossible. Why was I punishing myself like this just for his approval? What if I failed?

My body went automatically through the motions, speeding along the lane, my mind wandering miles away. I didn’t notice the covered distance or flags passing above my head and only distantly did I discern a noise I recognized as Sousuke’s shouting voice. At the instance it all added up, it was already too late and my leading hand had already swung backwards with all its might and collided with the edge of the pool with a loud thump.

Sharp pain coursed through my body, paralyzing me in the water, making me catch my breath in shock and instantly sink like a stone. A swift shadow momentarily obscured the blurry halogen lights above and in the next instance I was swayed and rocked by a force of a mass of water being pushed aside. Somebody’s arm grabbed me around the ribcage and pulled me towards the surface just in time for my next, involuntary breath to take place above the water surface.

My mouth was open but I couldn’t scream in pain or think clearly. I became aware of Sousuke’s wet cheek pressed against mine as he held me tightly to his chest with one arm and grabbed the pool edge with another, pulling me up over it. Outside, he clutched my hurt hand just below the wrist and examined it, winded and dripping water. Bright red blood gushed from limp fingers of my left palm, throbbing with growing agony.

Sousuke got to his feet and pulled me along easily like I was a rag doll.

“You need to see a doctor.” His tone was relentless and stern, just like his iron grip.

Out of nowhere, the coach appeared and got into Sousuke’s face, “What were you thinking!? We agreed you’d take it easy! Didn’t you learn anything?”

Sousuke’s jaw clenched and, even in my shock, I witnessed a pained, guilty expression that swept across his face while the coach examined my hand with a worried gaze. All around, the pool had suddenly gotten unnaturally quiet, the swimmers stopping in their tracks, following us with goggled eyes.

“He’s right, we better go see a doctor.” The coach agreed quietly, not wanting to spread panic among others that tentatively started approaching us out of concern and curiosity.

“I will take her.” Sousuke declared with the air of finality, his hand still holding mine in a tight grip. I felt his fingers tremble though. He was shaken too.

The coach shot him a dark look but seeing his determination, exhaled, exchanged a look with me and nodded. Then he turned to others and I heard his voice reverberate throughout the hall as Sousuke and turned the corner,

“What are you getting out of water for!? No slacking, either move or make place for someone who wants to practice!”

 Sousuke had started towards showers in big strides and all I could do was follow in hasty, shaky steps, too shocked at the sight of my own blood to protest. Along the way, without missing a beat or asking which one belonged to me, he grabbed my bag from the heap of equipment my team carelessly made.

He burst into women showers without announcement, his soaked clothes, determined glare and purposeful demeanor shooing couple of girls from there, as he let the water flow from one of the showerheads and adjusted its temperature.

“I will just wash the blood off, ok?” he stooped a bit to be at the same eyelevel with me, seizing my attention. The first time he really looked at me since the mishap, up until now he had been avoiding my eyes. Did he feel guilty? “Tell me if the water is too hot.”

I meekly nodded, letting him maneuver my injured hand under the soft pelting of water, turning it gently to assess the damage.

“I think I am ok…” I tried flexing my fingers and he shook my arm gently but pointedly, piercing me with his glare, stifling the voice in my throat.

“We will know that after we see a doctor. Until then, don’t move the fingers or the wrist.” His free hand reached inside my bag and fished out dry clothes. “Put these on.”

I looked at his hand still gripping my arm and he must have understood, because he straightened out and let go, turning his back to me.

“I will not look.” He mumbled, “Just… get changed.”

I did my best to peel off the swimming suit off me without involving my hurt limb, biting my tongue not to yelp in pain every now and then. Sousuke patiently stood turned to the opposite wall, but by controlled breaths and heaves of his wide back I could tell how superficial his calm was.

Undressing was one thing, but dressing with one hand proved too challenging.

“Could you… umm, please…” I stuttered, turning my back and my bra clasp to him.

He tentatively craned his neck towards me, a bit flustered despite the attempt to appear in control.

“I need your help with this.” I was glad I could turn my face away so he wouldn’t see my cheeks burn, but there was no other way around it. I could not do this singlehandedly.

He curtly nodded and then his warm fingers brushed against the skin of my back as he fumbled with a clasp a bit, before getting it right. The first touch. Despite my predicament, it made me pleasantly queasy on the inside. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, “There.”

“And the…” I indicated a hoodie with my finger, so he gently pulled it over my head and carefully maneuvered my aching hand through the sleeve. The bleeding had stopped but the fingers and the fist have started to swell visibly, looking worse then I felt. His worried gaze examined them now they were dried.

“I will drive you to a hospital, we need to get them X-rayed.”

“But I really am fine.” I meekly protested, pulling my dripping hair away from my face with the other hand, panic welling up inside me. A dreadful thought occurred to me; what if doctor forbade me to practice or to race? “I just need to call it a day…”

“Enough of that! What if you’re wrong!?” there was something so deeply angry in his voice, which reverberated through the empty shower room, so misplaced that we both clearly felt it. It was the first time I saw him lose his composure and all I could do was sit still in a wordless obedience.  

He silently turned and rummaged through my sports bag for a while, then sat on a bench behind me and, to my shock, started blow drying my hair. It was a clumsy, messy job but I closed my eyes and let myself cherish his long fingers trying to find their way through my tangled locks, feeling placated by the warmth and the touch.

“I have to enter that race.” I dared uttering softly after awhile, assuring myself. My arms were resting on my lap, more tired than in pain, and I felt my legs would not be able not support me if I had to stand up now. Strangely, that didn’t bother me. I didn’t want to be in the pool or in a hospital, I wanted to be here, just like this, knowing it was but a fleeting moment out of context, an illusion.

“Why?” Sousuke’s question startled me as I didn’t expect him to hear me, but he didn’t turn off the blow-dryer or stop combing my hair with his fingers. His voice was not angry or interrogative, on the contrary, I felt a genuine concern in his tone, inviting an honest answer.

I couldn’t give him one.

Instead, I shrugged, hanging my head.

“What do you swim for?” he asked again, since I offered no replies.

A word formed in my mouth, surrendering, and only a whisper carried it out.

“You.”

His hand froze halfway through the movement for couple of eternal seconds, as if he wondered if he had heard correctly, then continued brushing down the length of the hair.

“You asked about my rehabilitation.” He finally spoke, a slow and deliberate calmness tinting his words. I couldn’t make any sense of the subject change so I kept quiet.

“Yes, it ended weeks ago.”

I lifted my head but didn’t dare turn around. The dryer in his hand still made a monotonous humming noise, but its warm wind didn’t reach me anymore, hanging forgotten from Sousuke’s hand. The other one was still in my hair, gently plucking the tresses as if they were strings of an instrument.

“I have been commuting daily to another town see the other doctor.”

“Why did you then continue…?” I began, cradling my hurt palm in the other one for comfort, for courage. I was being too direct, but had nothing to lose. The heart, beating like mad inside my chest, was almost as loud as my words.

There was a helpless smile in his voice which I didn’t see but heard clearly,

“How else could I see you, when all you do is train?”

A smile started budding on my lips, only to be stifled by his next words.

“As of today, I am no longer coaching you.”

My head stopped its turn towards him, now that the dreaded had finally happened. I almost didn’t notice his fingers venturing deeper through my hair and gently touching the back of my neck, as if testing what the vertebrae beneath my skin felt like. To me, his fingers felt like the most gentle, feathery caresses until I realized that, at some point, the wandering fingertips have been replaced by his lips, burning fleeting kisses onto my skin. The hair dryer was turned off and put away, as his wide palms gently clasped my elbows from behind, his voice low and close and smoldering,

“It would be unprofessional.”

His big arms slowly cradled me from behind, gently pressing my back against his chest and his cheek against my neck, neither of us caring about details like wetness of his T-shirt between us. In time, I will turn around and let him kiss me, but now it felt right to stay like this, just breathing together.

From the doorframe, I heard slapping of bare feet against tiles and a muffled voice from one of my teammates to another, _“See, remember when I told you?”_

Sousuke’s quiet laughter shook my body and tickled my ear, as he whispered, “Swimcest, they called it?”

You bet it was.


End file.
